


Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops.

by JMount74



Series: Whumptober 2020 [17]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen, Hunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:14:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27227932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JMount74/pseuds/JMount74
Summary: Ever wondered what happened at that farm in Kent?
Series: Whumptober 2020 [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946881
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops.

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober prompt 28: Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops: Hunting Season, Accidents

Scott’s teeth ground together so forcefully Alan could hear them. He threw a puzzled glance at his eldest brother but carried on anyway. ‘There he is, there, the rich explorer guy. Er, er, Francy What’s-his-name.’

François Lemaire

A person Scott had hoped he would never see again, and he had thought his luck had held – Lemaire had not been around for 3 years.

But then he went and threw himself and his long-suffering wife into the tail of Haley’s Comet. Annnd…there’s John confirming they had a situation. Just great.

The man was a total idiot. Ravingly mad idiot. In fact, Scott could only think of one person he considered more of an idiot, and he prayed that Lemaire and Fischler never teamed up. His teeth would never survive.

Soon they were on their way, Alan so bouncingly excited it was endearing, Scott already nursing the start of a headache.

This was not the first time Scott had had to rescue the pair.

That was that ridiculous rescue from that farm in Kent.

TBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTB

It all started innocently enough. But then, don’t these things tend to?

The Lemaires were looking into buying a quaint country mansion in the Garden of England. Madeleine hated the French chateau François had inherited – too big, too old and too draughty – and had insisted they buy something more suitable. 

So far François was not impressed. He hated England. The weather was rather on the wet side, the sky was rather drab and buildings rather unadorned for his tastes.

They had so far looked at 15 country ‘manors’ as the agent called them – little more than big barns really. He had liked the look of Hampton Court Palace but had been curtly told that it was not for sale. The only other one he had liked so far was Igtham Mote near a place called Sevenoaks. It wasn’t all that to look at, but it had a moat. A MOAT! 

But, no…not quite right for the wife. They had just finished looking at a place called Quex Park near a quaint seaside town, and he had fallen in love. Not with the house, no nothing England had to offer would be anywhere near as good as France, but with the museum.

It was full of animals! Taxidermy at its finest, and many pieces over a hundred years old, a tradition he could really get behind. After all, the original owner of these magnificent beasts was an explorer just like he was – it was ideal!

They were on their way back to Ramsgate, where the yacht was moored – yes he could get the terminology right when he wanted to, thank you very much – when the lovely car they had hired conked out near a small village called St. Nicholas At Wade. They had bypassed it on the drive there, but on returning Lemaire had decided that they should perhaps look at the countryside around where they might be planning on living.

Madeleine rolled her eyes and tried to keep her temper. Sometimes she wondered what world her husband lived in. They had traipsed all over the countryside and she had warned him that the old-fashioned car they – he – had hired would need a fuel top-up, but would he listen? Oh no, François knew what he was doing.

Currently that idiot of a husband was outside, looking under the bonnet of the car trying to work out what was wrong. Of course he had not looked at the dash. She rolled her eyes again. Getting out of the car to join her husband, Madeleine suddenly realised just how dark it was getting. And the clouds were gathering. It was going to rain. Suddenly that ridiculous Chateau wasn’t looking so bad now.

‘I’m sorry, my love,’ he started, looking at her with that puppy-dog expression that said, “I’m about to tell you something you won’t like.” She sighed deeply. ‘What is it?’ she asked, pretty sure she already knew what he was going to suggest. ‘The car is done for. I think the best thing we can do is head back to the village we not long drove through.’

‘Not long drove through’ turned out to be ‘drove through quite a while ago,’ as François had no idea of distance. She shivered and drew her coat around herself. At least she had known to bring a coat, having spent much of her childhood in England she knew how cold it could suddenly get, and speculated at how long she could walk in the heels she was wearing. They were not high, but they were not made for walking along country lanes in the dark and the rain. 

It was raining now. Big, fat raindrops that would soak someone in seconds. They had walked some distance and, following a map of the area – thank you Google maps – François had found a short-cut through some fields. Madeleine wasn’t too sure about cutting across the fields, she had heard plenty of horror stories about irate farmers and guns, but as usual her husband knew best. Rubbishing her warnings, they cut across three fields and were cresting a small hill when they heard it.

‘It’ turned out to be two cars that looked out of place on what looked like a meadow below the hill. The throaty growl of their engines suddenly cut out, and Madeleine was forcefully reminded of how dark it had become. François immediately tried to head over their way, mouth open to shout a greeting, but was stopped rather surprisingly by Maddie’s hand over his mouth and a hissing ‘be quiet’ in his ear.

For once in his life Lemaire listened to his wife. They stood still and watched as one of the cars turned on some powerful yellow lights, and even from their distance away, they could see animal eyeshine in the beams. Then there was barking, and three streaks were let loose, dogs chasing whatever was there. Heart in her mouth, Madeleine watched the very illegal practice of lamping below them, so pleased that it was this occasion François had decided to listen to her.

Lamping was a centuries-old practice of catching nocturnal animals using lights to show them to hunters and then dogs and/or guns were used for the kill. England had outlawed lamping gradually, back in the 2004 for foxes and about 30 years later for all other animals. But farmers still hunted foxes as vermin, and it was known to be a dangerous thing to stumble on. People who lamped took it very seriously.

Madeleine grabbed François by the hand, and they rushed back the way they came. Although, now it was so dark and they had no light, she wasn’t entirely sure they were going the right way. Tripping almost constantly on roots and debris, they eventually made it to the bottom of the hill and raced across the field before them. She swore she could hear the dogs giving chase. 

There was a hidden ditch that they had both fallen into, and the noise of squawking ducks filled the air. Apparently they must had disturbed quite a few, because it suddenly appeared that the air around them was full of ducks intent on murdering them. It took a while to get out of the ditch.

They almost ran into the wall of the building.. They felt their way around and were surprised to find it was a tiny hexagonal building with what felt like a slot in the middle top of each side. Confused, they wandered around it until they stumbled onto a door. Unfortunately, the door was secured by a thick padlock. Fortunately, the shackle had not been closed properly and the door was slightly open.

This caused all kinds of alarms to go off in Madeleine’s head. Why lock the door only to leave it open? Was someone coming back? The same could not be said of her husband. Once he had noticed the door was ajar, he had pulled it open and stepped in. Lemaire did not know that the floor was sunk into the ground and fell into the building with a cry. She rushed after him, pulling the door closed as she did and being careful not to make the same mistake.

François was not amused. This was one of the worse trips he had ever been on. What kind of a farm allows people to run around at night with dogs and guns, chasing innocent explorers such as himself? What kind of a place breeds ducks intent on murder? Now they had got themselves caught in a funny building, he had in all probability broken his ankle and they had not eaten for hours! He sat on the floor where he had fallen, feeling very sorry for himself and not a little annoyed at his wife for wanting to come to Kent in the first place.

Looking around the building they now found themselves in, there was a surprising amount of space, and someone had obviously been using it. There was a table and a chair alongside a small bin, and some candles with a box of matches. Madeleine wasn’t sure about lighting one in case the light drew the lampers, but after waiting for quite a while in the dark she decided that there were no followers.

Helping her husband up, she assisted him as he hobbled to the only chair and lowered him in. All the while he was moaning about having a broken ankle and how were they supposed to get out of here now? 

TBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTB

Scott Tracy had had the month from hell. It had started with Gordon, because most times things went wrong at home he was almost always the reason. And this was no exception. A prank meant for Alan had backfired on the Squid spectacularly when Scott decided to take a short cut that ended with him in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. One badly sprained ankle, an ice pack and a firm ‘no missions for a week – at least’ from Grandma had put paid to any aspirations of, well, anything.

Cleared to go back to rescues 8 days later, he’d barely been on site for 15 minutes before being kicked in the chest by a spooked horse. Thankfully, the suits Brains had designed absorbed the majority of the impact, or Scott would not be here to tell the tale, but he still had three cracked ribs and another ‘no missions for at least three weeks – at least!’ commanded by Grandma and Virgil. After the regenerator had been applied, three weeks at least instead of twelve was a blessing, but it was going to drive Scott insane! And everybody else whispered Gordon.

Fortunately, Penny had come up with a solution. So Scott had been shipped off to Foxley Heath and the Creighton-Ward Manor to be bored in wet, cold Kent instead of bored in hot, sunny Tracy Island. Set in the middle of Kentish countryside, normally Scott would have enjoyed meandering around the myriad of farms owned by Lady P and her estate. But it had not stopped raining for more than a few hours, and he found the damp made his knitting ribs sore. He’d been banned from doing anything, even going for a drive.

So when the manor’s phone started ringing at nearly midnight, four days from the end of his ‘imprisonment’, Scott was more than intrigued. He was ready to go! Both Penny and Parker rolled their eyes simultaneously when a fully dressed Scott appeared before them not 10 minutes after the call. Holding both hands up as a peace offering, he simply said, ‘I’ll stay in the car. I just need to stretch.’ Both eyed him suspiciously, both knew better, but Penny simply nodded and led the way to FAB1.

Driving along the country roads in the pitch black of midnight and no streetlamps could have given anyone heartburn, but Scott trusted Parker’s skills at driving implicitly, and while they were hurtling along Penny filled him in. One of the old tenant farms out on the edges of the estate had reported what seemed like lampers and also an abandoned car on one of the side roads that had to be moved by tractor. There was some concern about the occupants of the car. So here they were on a kinda-rescue.

By the time they (of course he didn’t stay in the car) had met up with the farmer and then walked across the fields to where the lampers had been, it was almost 1.30am, and Scott was thinking he should have brought a warmer coat. The lampers were long gone, of course, but the ground was chewed up pretty badly where they had been. The farmer then took them over the wooded hill and across the fields to where the car was found. On the way through the fields to the left of where they were heading was the outline of a weirdly shaped building that had a flickering light coming from it.

While all this was occurring, the Lemaires were freezing to death and dying of starvation. Madeleine shook her head. Her husband’s penchant for exaggeration knew no bounds. Opening the box beside the table, they had found several ration and celery crunch bars, although they were very out of date. She refused to even contemplate eating them, but François was dyyyyiiiinnnngggg. He had nibbled one ration bar, shuddered theatrically and declared that ‘that was the worst thing I have ever eaten – and I have eaten Vieux-Boulogne!’ Madeleine was only able to mollify him by promising that would be the last time he would ever have to eat ration bars again.

Not ten minutes later the sound of voices could be heard getting closer. At first she held her breath, hoping that these would be good people, but Lemaire was not going to be dissuaded, yelling out for assistance as soon as he heard them. The farmer explained to the trio about the building being a Pillbox, a relic from WWII that they sometimes allowed travellers to stay in, but that had not been used in some time.

Getting the door open took some doing as the shackle had clicked into place. In the end Scott used one of Brain’s mini lasers to cut through it. He was immediately accosted by a dishevelled man who grabbed him around the chest and hugged him. Tightly. He felt one of his ribs pop. The man was gibbering something about murderous ducks. Parker came to Scott’s aid, gently removing the hugger while Penny chatted to the woman with him.

The Farmer took the Lemaires, Scott and Penny back to the farmhouse while Parker went on to fix the car. It was an easy fix, and he arrived back at the farmhouse just as the tale wound up. By the time the sun rose everything was back to normal.

Except Scott now had one broken rib. Explaining that one to Virgil and Grandma was not going to be fun, he’d have to find some excuse…

TBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTB

It was with some level of smug self-satisfaction that Scott told Lemaire while he was in Three’s cargo bay that all they had to eat were some ration bars to sustain them during the 36-hour flight home.

He heard the almost whispered response: ‘It’s just like that farm in Kent all over again’.

**Author's Note:**

> These places are all worth visiting, and the Pillbox at St. Nicholas is really in the middle of nowhere! 
> 
> Since the Creighton-Ward estate is in Kent, but no-one knows where, I exercised a bit of writer's imagination and placed it relatively nearby.
> 
> This follows Comet Chasers. A little background into Lemaire's previous rescue as mentioned in this episode. Comet Chasers is owned by ITV Studios


End file.
